


La Veuve Beau

by Occultry



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Assassin!Sal, Character Death, Fluff, French!Sal, Gore, Larry/Sal - Freeform, Light BDSM, M/M, Mafia!Larry, OOC behavour, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychopath!Sal, Smut, Violence, Xenophobia, alternative universe, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 20:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20141842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occultry/pseuds/Occultry
Summary: In the beautiful city of Paris, a certain French blue-haired assassin takes a brunette metal head American under his wing to teach him the brutal ways of the killing industry. Chaos, romance and drama blossoms as the psychopath and mysterious mafia member join forces against their chosen targets.





	La Veuve Beau

A bitter summer’s air danced through the spacious and elegant apartment, located in the city of love – Paris. Inside, the walls were cream and dusted with golden accents along the intricate 18th Century carvings which laced themselves around the doorframes and window panes. A tope suede loveseat sat on top of a white fur rug and occupied most of the Livingroom, paired with a pearly white armchair and throne with black velvet cushioning and a white golden trim. The walls were littered with French artwork from the 17th century and gunshots. A grand fireplace stood between two windows which reached as tall as the ceiling. In the fireplace were handfuls of burnt out cigarette butts and what seemed to be charred remains of bones and teeth. Through two large open doors was a smaller kitchen, the walls were a light tan colour with white cupboards and counters. A refrigerator and oven were too sat against the walls and along the birch wood counter tops laid a thin sheet of plastic. Dainty, gloved fingers ran along the soft flesh which jumped from the force of the cleaver. Thud. There went another finger. Thud. And another. Thud. A blunt cut at the wrist. Deep blue eyes followed the sudden actions, one frosted over with an artificial film. Two gloved palms scooped up handfuls of remains and dropped them, the sound of flesh hitting the boiling water mixed with ribbons of classic French symphonies filled the air.  
A soft evening glow filled the room where Sal Fisher stood, his Olympic blue locks falling over his scarred cheeks as he proceeded to boil down any evidence of his last job. His pale body was draped in a thin white bedsheet which sat just passed his shoulders and covered his slim, toned torso to his thighs, where it flared out like an evening gown and revealed his smooth feminine legs. He removed his gloves and picked up the glass of crimson red wine, a soft ‘ding’ could be heard as his ring clad fingers grasped the bowl of the glass. He brought the addictive substance to his lips and indulged in its expertly crafted taste, his eyes closing briefly as a soft sigh escaped his throat. He rolled his shoulders back into a more up-right posture and grabbed the sleek kitchen knife from the wall; holding it to his side at eye level, his expression was calm, but his lidded eyes were alert and concentrating.  
A quiet click from the front door could barely be heard, followed by a soft footstep and a deep breath. A small, composed figure stood in the doorway, his hands tucked comfortably in his pockets as his ginger curls spread like wildfire on his head. Before the young man reached the doorway, the blade from the blue’s fingertips had come flying through the air and in the direction of his head. The man’s reflex caused him to duck just in time and forced a excited giggle from his throat.  
“You’re getting quicker!” Sal teased, elongating the ‘er’ sound as he turned around to greet the shorter male, known as Todd Morrison.  
“I must say, I did expect something like that from you.” Todd replied, his laugh becoming more of an uneasy chuckle as he felt the solid barrel of a gun press against his stomach. Sal loomed over him, his face stoic and eyes dark.  
“Didn’t expect that did you, Morrison?” His tone had shifted, he was more serious now. His French accent slipped through his lips like silk, yet his eyes were cold as he pressed the gun further into the man’s stomach. “Why are you here?”  
“Why do you think? Mafia.” Todd replied, Sal softly furrowed his eyebrows, eyes flicking to the light wooden floor before back to Todd’s eyes. “They’ve put in a job for you. One of their members. Larry Johnson.” Todd finished, noticing the way Sal’s eye had brightened as he pulled away and threw the gun onto the loveseat, slipping a cherry red lollipop between his lips. Walking passed the other to his bedroom, Sal got prepared himself, both physically and mentally, for his surprise mission. After a few minutes he returned to the room with Todd, his body clad in black utility pants, leather combat boots that reached just below his knees and a basic black turtleneck. An authentic off-white fur coat engulfed his tiny body and a dozen silver chains around his neck which varied in length and thickness. A long cigarette hung from his lips while his eyes were covered by the bottom of a cracked white mask, which he had lifted to get access to his lips. The mask was littered with dried blood stains, soon to be joined by fresh ones if this kill were to go as Sal had planned.  
“So where is he then?” Sal asked, looking down through the gaps between his face and mask, as he loaded his Glocks and sat them in his holsters. He then proceeded to set up his knives, making sure all of them were secure in their places on his body.  
“His place is just down the street. They call it 'La maison des mensonges’.” Todd explained, his posture more relaxed as Sal stood a little further from him.  
Sal lifted up his shirt and stumped out his cigarette on his exposed hipbone, his lip caught between his teeth as a short low moan echoed in the room. He flicked it into the fireplace with the rest and pulled down the mask – rings of shadows glossing over the the dark eyes as he made his way out the door; expecting Todd to make his own way out.  
CRASH. “Bonjour, Motherfucker!” Sal announced, his voice loud and obnoxious as he burst through the doors of the mansion. His sharp eyes scanned around the room, it was spacious even with the grand mahogany fireplace against the far wall. Sal casually walked around the room, his eyes still studying the beauty of the vintage French interior until they landed on a simple white umbrella in the corner of the room. His leather fingers gripped the golden handle and pulled it up to his other hand, playing with the spiked tip as he pondered down a large corridor towards what seemed to be an open hall. Sal’s eyes travelled over the framed art, delicate statues and vases displayed against the walls. A low chuckle rang throughout the air as he lifted the long object above his head, sucked in a sharp breath and with a loud grunt he destroyed the delicate objects around him. China created a satisfying smash against the clean marble floors and paintings ripped under his violent touch as he caused chaos around him. “Come out, come out, where every you are.” He teased, his voice low and vicious as he briefly turned to examine his catastrophe with a satisfied glint to his eye, contrasting his emotionless porcelain face.  
As he turned around to examine the hall, Sal was greeted with a tall, relaxed figure dressed in an all-black suit. He held his arm out with slim fingers wrapped around a perfectly crafted pistol, long chestnut brown hair pulled back into a sleek low ponytail and brown eyes dark with concentration as he watched the other like a hawk. “I win.” The stranger taunted, the glowing cigarette balancing from his frowning lips bounced as he spoke.  
A vociferous laugh left Sal’s lips as he hooked the umbrella to his hip strap. He swiftly pulled out his own Glock and aimed it directly at the brunette’s forehead; his laugh suddenly vanishing as his dilated pupils quickly searched the room for any other targets. “What the fuck do you want? They haven’t wasted my time for nothing.” Sal spat, his arm staying dead still as he watched the other take a long drag of the dying cigarette.  
Behind the taller male, two large mahogany doors opened to reveal an older woman with long hair, a pin striped pant suit and 2 large men at her side. Sal rolled his eye at her and pulled out another pistol, having both the man and woman under the discipline of his weapons and vice-versa. The two men beside her pulled out their weapons and aimed it at the Sal, red dots travelling around his body until they settled on his fur clad chest. “I see you met my son.” She relished, walking over to stand next to the man who was just as tall as her.  
“Ah wonderful, another filthy Johnson in my country. At least I don’t have to worry about the man of the family.” He said, his voice laced in mockery. He saw the male brunette straighten his posture, face still aloof as his body told another story. A story filled with resentment.  
“Careful, Sal, you do have 3 guns aimed at your fragile little body. And you really don’t want to anger me.” She expressed calmly as she lit a cigarette between her berry lips, the lighter golden and rusted with the familiar family crest. Her dark eyes watched the assassin with little worry as he moved to aim both of his weapons at her son, just to tease.  
“Bold of you to assume my body is fragile. And you know I’ll be able to get away from your pathetic bodyguards and son. Us French aren’t fat like you Americans.” He blankly stated, his xenophobia making the woman present a dry chuckle.  
“And that is exactly why I need you. My son, Larry, is a little rough around the edges and I was hoping you’d take him on board.” She explained, walking towards a slightly confused but blank faced Sal.  
“Why the fuck would I want a dirty little Johnson in my company, Lisa?” He asked, dropping the gun he aimed at her as they stood face to face, the tension around them both extremely heavy; just how they liked it.  
“Because I know how much you like competition – and money.” She bluntly stated, a small smile playing on her lips as Sal looked behind her at Larry. He rolled his eyes and let out a soft sigh, putting his Glocks back into their holsters.  
“I already have money, but he’s pretty and training the Godmother’s son sounds so interesting.” Sal admitted, hanging his hands comfortably to his sides before suddenly pulling out the umbrella and pressing it against the woman’s throat, multiple clicks echoed as all the guns became a very real risk. The woman’s mocking laughs only made Sal push the pointed tip deeper into her skin. “You listen to me Lisa, if I want to, I can easily kill him. I’ve warned you and if anything happens it’ll be on you.” He threatened, his voice low and blunt.  
“You wouldn’t Sal, you know what I can do to you.” Lisa softly taunted as he pulled the weapon away, taking one last drag from her cigarette and stumping it out underneath her large boot. She turned and walked over to Larry, whispering something in his ear which made him smile then look up at Sal. “Have fun Sal! I’ll keep in touch!” She teased, walking out of the same doors with the large men once again trailing behind her.  
Larry walked over to Sal, his face now blank as he looked down at the anonymous killer. Sal pursed his lips out as he circled the taller man, stopping when he was behind his back. Larry kept facing forward, taking a new cigarette between his lips and lighting it with what seemed to be the same lighter as Lisa’s but in a better condition. Sal pressed a sharp spear point to Larry’s back, forcing the man to move as he exhaled the delicate smoke from his smirking lips. “Come on! I am going to drive you mad!” Sal teased, a twisted laugh escaping his lips as he followed closely behind the brunette.  
“I can’t wait.” Larry hummed quietly, a subtle smile tugging on his lips as he made his way out of the mansion under the control of his new teacher.


End file.
